


Two Marines and a Reporter Walk into a Humvee

by lastwingedthing



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 07:37:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastwingedthing/pseuds/lastwingedthing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a little night conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Marines and a Reporter Walk into a Humvee

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Porn Skirmish. Despite the fact that this does not, in fact, contain porn. I'm special like that.

There are many, many things that Evan Wright hates about being in a warzone. Leaving aside the really fucking obvious, there is the terrible food – or worse yet, there is the terrible food that they don't actually _have_, because some genius left it behind in a supply truck to get blown up. There is the fact that he has not changed out of his filthy, sweaty, disgusting clothes in over two weeks, and the fact that he has to spend twenty hours a day in a small enclosed space with four _other_ men who have not changed out of their filthy, sweaty, disgusting clothes either. There is the fact that not only did Evan choose to be here, he could _choose to leave at any time_, and yet some tiny stubborn animalistic part of his brain is refusing to give up. Right now, though, Evan is hating the fact that being in a warzone both severely limits the time available for sleeping and makes it really fucking difficult to sleep even when he gets the chance. He's crammed into the corner of the Humvee, with nameless and frankly kind of terrifying pieces of equipment and weaponry – possibly even explosives, Evan's trying not to think about it – poking into him on all sides, and the sound of the distant artillery is only just loud enough to rise above Trombley snoring like a fucking buzzsaw a foot away, not to mention Ray in the front seat humming Avril Lavigne loudly and off-key – not that it would matter if Ray was getting it note-perfect, it was still _Avril fucking Lavigne_. Forget physical injuries, what with Ray's bizarre taste in pop and Brad's fucking Air Supply, Evan's real worry is that he's going to come home with his taste in music permanently warped.

His mood is not improved when Brad returns from wherever the fuck he's been for the past hour. Evan's first thought is a combat jack, but Brad doesn't exactly seem like he's been having fun: he apparently finds it necessary to not just climb, but _throw_ himself into his seat, shaking the Humvee just the crucial amount to send the fucking _antitank missile_ slamming into the back of Evan's head. Again. Evan's eyes are already closed, but he starts counting to ten anyway. Then he tries it backwards. In Spanish. There are times and places when it is necessary and appropriate to fully express one's feelings, and then there is shouting at and annoying three highly-trained and well-armed killers, one of who was already cranky and one of who was asleep. Despite occasional lapses, Evan's survival instincts are highly developed.

Which is why, when he hears Ray Person open his mouth and start talking to Brad in a low, warm tone Evan's never heard from him before, he stays still and quiet, pretending to be still sleeping. It's just an unfortunate side effect that this means he has to eavesdrop on their conversation.

Okay, fine. He's a little bit curious, too.

"Bradley Colbert, you are a very bad man."

There is a long pause. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ray."

"Corrupting the young and the innocent? Brad, Brad, Brad. That fine young man looks up to you as a moral and upstanding representative of the United States Marine Corps, and yet here you are, leading him down dark paths of debauchery and sin. Which he really fucking should have expected, considering he is a filthy Marine himself and should know better by now, but apparently he's still all idealistic and shit. Actually, maybe you _should_ hurry the fuck up and enlighten him, that shit's just embarrassing for all of us."

There's a snort. Evan is trying not to breathe; Brad and Ray are talking so quietly that he can barely hear them, and while he's sure whatever they're discussing isn't _actually_ what it sounds like, he's equally sure that he doesn't want to be listening to this. "Young and innocent, Ray? I know they don't teach you inbred backwoods hicks to count, but you don't need advanced mathematics to figure out that he's older than you."

"Yeah, okay, whatever. That so-called innocence is fucking bullshit too." There's a pause – brief, but still kind of unusual. Ray doesn't usually stop even to breathe. "So are you going to tell me all the details now, or do I have to keep annoying you until Trombley wakes up and tries to fuck a camel or something? Or shoot it, whatever."

"There are no fucking details, Ray. Mission was a no-go."

Ray laughs softly. "Damn. That's what you get for not letting me watch, you fucker."

Evan's eyes pop open; he can't help himself. Did Ray just – are they really –

He can't think about it.

But in the sudden brief light of an artillery strike, when Evan can see into the front seat of the Humvee for just a second, Brad and Ray are staring at each other. They're also sitting far too close together. _Christ_.

There's another long pause. It seems like an eternity since Evan's actually experienced silence, yet somehow despite the bombs and Trombley's snoring and the sound of distant conversation – okay, really foul swearing, among Marines it comes to the same thing – coming from Poke's Humvee, it still feels almost quiet. Evan is _definitely_ sure he doesn't want to be hearing this.

Although actually, Evan's pretty grateful that Trombley's still snoring. He doesn't want to be awake for this conversation, but he wants Trombley to be hearing this even less.

"So what kind of jacked-up shit happened that the Iceman fucked up? Don't tell me that your perfect overeducated Hebrew ass actually failed at something, homes, because then I'd be all heartbroken and disillusioned and crying and shit, and that would really ruin my wartime experience. You don't want that to happen to me, do you?"

Brad sighs heavily, sounding annoyed. Which is usually how he sounds when talking to Ray, but something about his tone is different tonight. "Fucking Christ, Ray, would you shut up? I'd turn you over my knee and spank you if I didn't know you'd enjoy it."

Oh my _god_. Evan had thought his tolerance for really, seriously disturbing mental images had become pretty fucking high, what with the whole living in close quarters with twenty Marines for weeks thing, but seriously, there was disturbing, and then there was _that_. Jesus _Christ_.

"You are one sick motherfucker," Ray says, approvingly. "No wonder he's crazy about you."

Brad makes a noise, and Ray scoffs, still quiet. "Oh, don't even try and lie to _me_, homes. You think I haven't seen him watching you when he thinks no-one is looking, fucking pining after you like some gay romance Jake Gyllanhaal shit, all wide eyes and that fucking cocksucker mouth – "

Ray stops speaking abruptly; Evan doesn't hear Brad say anything, but it's almost pitch-black in the Humvee. Brad could have done anything, and Evan would never know.

The silence in the front seat stretches out. Evan's almost squirming with his need to just get out of there. Except that if he moves, Brad and Ray will _know_ that he heard it all, and that would be even worse than having to stay still.

Finally Ray speaks again, even quieter. "You're so fucking lucky. I could be all jealous and territorial and shit, and instead I'm – "

"A sick and twisted individual who is even more perverted than your average Marine?"

"A sick and twisted individual who's going to – " Ray stops midsentence again. Or is stopped. Evan is _still not thinking about it_.

Brad snorts again. "Yeah, okay."

All of a sudden, Brad's opening the door of his Humvee again, leaving as quickly as he came. And when the next flash of light comes, Ray's turned in his seat, staring straight at Evan.

Holy _shit_. Evan's heart nearly leaps out of his chest.

"You know, Reporter, it doesn't take a Recon Marine to figure out how many people are actually asleep in this Humvee at any one time. All you motherfuckers snore, it's worse than a fucking Disney cartoon in here sometimes. You might want to keep it in mind."

Evan's frozen. They – holy shit, they _both_ knew he was awake, so why did they – ?

He doesn't move, even as he hears Ray getting out of the front seat, reaching over to shake Trombley awake and hand him the hook.

"Gotta shit," Ray says breezily, when Trombley makes the incoherent complaining noises of someone who really doesn't want to be awake, and shuts the door behind himself as he leaves.

Evan sees him in one more flash of light, looking back at the Humvee, eyes dark and amused, as he heads out in the same direction as Brad.

The worst thing about being in a warzone, Evan has decided, is that he came here to learn – what it was like to be in a war, what it was like to be a Marine. And now he's learned too fucking much.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so is this actually Brad/Ray or is this a piece of truly epic mindfucking of the Reporter? YOU DECIDE.
> 
> Either way, Brad and Ray are going to have enjoyed themselves waaaay too much.


End file.
